


Go to Them

by botaniques (flamboyantgentleman)



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: M/M, Porn with Feelings, ambrosia shenanigans, but make it tender, everybody's favorite gay uncles get a little kinky, fantasizing about your ward, mostly patrochilles, patroclus is an agent of chaos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28679382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamboyantgentleman/pseuds/botaniques
Summary: Patroclus took a slow sip of the liquid, savoring the bright bloom of it on his tongue. The roguish expression on his face mingled briefly with one of pleasure, and Achilles could almost taste it from the sight alone. After a time he swallowed, and Achilles' eyes followed the bob of his throat."I have seen the way he looks at you."Spurred by another gift from their ever-generous prince, Patroclus lays siege to his lover’s deepest fantasies.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Hades Video Game), Achilles/Patroclus/Zagreus (Hades Video Game), Achilles/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 36
Kudos: 314





	Go to Them

Achilles would never tire of the feeling that trilled through him every time he crested the hill overlooking Patroclus' Elysian glade. It was anticipation, yes, but tinged with the warmth of hope where so long there had been none. _My Patroclus_ \- just there, seated, his head tipped to the river and a faint smile upon his mouth. He would hear Achilles coming, even if he did not show it.

The hope crested, blossomed into joy at the sight of him. Achilles felt that his gratitude was an endless spring, pouring into the soft well of each footprint as they carried him closer to Patroclus. 

_Thank you, Zagreus._

Today he brought with him another one of Zagreus' gifts: a bottle of finest ambrosia, given freely for such a prized substance. But that was the way of their prince - generous in all things, brimming with sweet gifts and sweeter words. 

It was more than he deserved, though he had long since learned better than to refuse Zagreus such gestures. What joy it brought the young god, he did not know - all he could ever offer in return was his unending gratitude, and a fierce oath to never take such kindness for granted. 

(He had almost told Zagreus, once, of how it was his greatest error in life; the fates had been kind enough to put a heart in his chest, and he had been too foolish, too prideful to think they might be cruel enough to rip it back out. Never would he forget the man - god - who returned it to him after an aching eternity.) 

Patroclus greeted him with a kiss and a soft, murmured _my Achilles_ that set his phantom heart to fluttering. 

He smoothed a dark curl from his lover's brow and breathed his name in turn. They sat, then, settling into the soft grasses of the glen. 

"You were not long at the house of Hades, beloved," Patroclus remarked. "Do they tire so easily of you these days?" 

Achilles could only smile at his teasing. "Long enough to come bearing gifts," he said, offering the ambrosia. 

"Another?" Patroclus took the bottle and turned it idly in his hands. "How generous." The faceted crystal glittered and flashed, reflections scattering like stars across the dark of his skin. Achilles' heart swelled at the sight. 

"One more kindness I could but hope to repay," he said, and he did not know whether he spoke of Patroclus or the bottle he held. 

Patroclus uncorked the bottle delicately, let the aroma of it fill the space between them. "Oh, but surely you know by now that your attentions are all the thanks our little prince could desire." 

There was a quality to his voice - a musical, lilting sort of tone that bode of more teasing. "I do not know of anyone in the underworld who would consider such fine gifts beneath their attention," Achilles responded, matter-of-fact. 

Patroclus' eyes rose to his, and he could see the spark of amusement there grow brighter. "Not anyone, my Achilles. _You._ " 

Achilles tried to find the thread of his words, came up empty-handed. "I do not understand." 

"Do you not wonder why he lavishes you so? With the same gifts he bestows upon his lovers, no less." 

Achilles' mouth opened, and then closed again. He felt the line of his lips grow taut. Was this jealousy, or possessiveness? It did not carry the sharp edge of anger; and besides, they had not been so guarded with their affections in life. They might have shared their bed rarely, but not begrudgingly - it would not occur to either of them to think that such a thing might diminish their love. 

"You misunderstand," he said finally. Zagreus was unerringly generous with all who enjoyed his favor - surely that was the whole of it. 

Patroclus took a slow sip of the liquid, savoring the bright bloom of it on his tongue. The roguish expression on his face mingled briefly with one of pleasure, and Achilles could almost taste it from the sight alone. After a time he swallowed, and Achilles' eyes followed the bob of his throat. "I have seen the way he looks at you." 

Achilles opened his mouth to protest, but Patroclus only pushed the bottle to his lips. "Ah - do not be an old fool, now. You always were oblivious to the attention of others, especially when I was present." It was not a boast; simply a fact, one that he could not rebuke. 

Wanting for words, Achilles drank instead. The taste was sweet and earthen. It warmed his chest as it went, a slow and spreading heat like the sun on his bare skin. "Why should I pay them mind, when you are all I could ever want?" 

Patroclus kissed him then, and the taste of him was welcome alongside the ambrosia. "Do not think that I doubt your love," he said against Achilles' mouth dryly, as if the very idea were absurd. And it _was_ absurd - this was their fixed point, their golden truth, the only constant that had followed them from life into death. Nothing could taint that. "I am only remarking on something which you are too stubborn to see." 

Achilles turned it over and over in his head, the way Pat had turned the bottle of ambrosia. The idea gleamed bright, flashing a thousand glimmering memories through his mind's eye –

\- 

_Zagreus, younger, just coming into the full flush of his strength. His chest heaved with exertion, and his smile was sun-bright beneath a determined brow. Achilles did not allow himself to think of another young man he had sparred with, lifetimes ago, the only one who would dare go up against the swift-footed Achilles. He did not allow himself to think of the flush of the man's skin, both in fighting and loving, similar now to the rosy glow on Zagreus's face. There were other similarities too: strong arms and a tapered waist, a devil-may-care grin that could send the world spinning on its axis... but no. He set his mind against the thought and braced for another round, watching with no small guilt as Zagreus beamed back in challenge._

-

_An older Zagreus, only just, never seeming to outgrow that boyish exuberance. Achilles flattered himself to think that they might have been of the same disposition once, long ago, when the world was younger and still full of glories to be won. He had cautioned himself a hundred times against trying to step in and protect that fledgeling innocence; from the likes of Zagreus' father, from the other young gods who would break his heart, from himself. It would do no good to fight Zagreus' battles for him, and he was not here to coddle him besides. The best he could do was offer up a prayer instead:_ let the fates not be as cruel to him, please. _And then, quieter, as if he could hardly bear for the gods themselves to hear it:_ let him not be the fool I was. __

\- 

_Zagreus, older yet, that youthful innocence blunted but unbroken; it took on a sharper edge now, a wildly determined sort of benevolence that seemed set out to right all the wrongs of the world. The goodness in him sometimes made Achilles ache, made him think of the things he had loved best in others. It was heavy in his chest now as Zagreus stood before him, his eager expression as bright and golden as the bottle he offered Achilles. "For you, sir."_

_Achilles smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes, and his throat felt dry around the words: "I thank you for this gift, lad, but I would have you know... my heart belongs to another." He took the bottle in a too-tight grip and watched something in Zagreus' smile shift._

_He had expected Zagreus to brush off his words as a misunderstanding, a simple gesture of gratitude and nothing more. He wouldn't allow himself to think of it as a rejection - not for a soul who had already weathered so much of it._

_"Somehow I already knew that, sir," Zagreus said, and his voice was kind in a way that turned the ache in Achilles' chest into a living thing._

_He thought Zagreus might stop bringing him gifts of nectar after that. But Zagreus was relentless in his generosity, as in all things, and he continued to return with the occasional bottle to exchange a few pleasant words._

_There were few Achilles had ever known who were truly content to give and receive nothing in return. It made him wish fiercely that he had more to offer._

_("Because you deserve to have something nice," Zagreus had said the next time, not even waiting for Achilles' thanks before dashing back out into the clutches of Tartarus._

_The nectar was sweet on his tongue, and it soothed the ache if just for a few blissful moments.)_

\- 

Patroclus, ever bright, ever sharp, had always been the one to see the whole of things. Why should it be any surprise now that he gave name to the want in Achilles' heart before he himself even had the words? 

Achilles took another slow sip of nectar, want for something to do to distract him from Patroclus' knowing gaze. He wondered if it would loosen his tongue enough to allow him to speak of such things. "And... if I did see it, this thing you say is between us," he said slowly, as if plucking the words with great effort, "what would you have me do?" 

Patroclus brushed the golden hair from Achilles' neck to fix his mouth there. His lips were warm as he spoke, and they grazed relentlessly against the sensitive spot below Achilles' ear. "Are you formally seeking my counsel on the matter, o great Achilles?" 

Achilles made a noise that was half-laugh, half-groan. "I do recall that you're the one who brought the matter to hand." 

Pat brought his fingers to Achilles' chest, chased the lines of his armor with a light, teasing touch. "Fear not, my love. it is not the only matter I plan to bring to hand," he said, and in one deft motion he had Achilles' cloak unclasped and pooling around them. 

Achilles kissed him in earnest then, guiding Pat's jaw with a gentle tug to meet his mouth. He relished the feel of it: the scrape of beard on skin, the hot press of tongue against his. Patroclus caught his lip between his teeth as they parted, earning a pleased noise from Achilles. "But ah, let us not get ahead of ourselves now," he breathed, and the noise turned to a groan of protest in Achilles' throat. "Are you telling me you're not so ignorant to our young prince's affections as you seem?" 

Achilles - ever swift and impatient - made quick work of Pat's own cloak, claiming the skin beneath with broad, eager hands. "I am simply entertaining the idea for your benefit," he said, and he knew it was not a lie if he let himself believe it. _Strong, capable, handsome Zagreus, eyes scouring the lounge until they lit on Achilles' own, brimming suddenly with such brilliant enthusiasm that it was like looking into the sun–_

Patroclus lifted to his touch, humming a low noise of arousal as Achilles skimmed his collarbone. He brought his mouth to Achilles' ear then, and his voice was a low scrape of deep-spooling pleasure. "I rather think you are asking my permission." 

His _permission_. It sent a strange thrill through Achilles. He would return the gift Zagreus had given them in kind, offering up his golden Achilles to desires that had too long lain unspoken. But something tugged at him - it was not quite right, this hazy fantasy, not so soon after they had found each other's embrace again. 

And just like that, Patroclus plucked the truth from Achilles like one would pluck a ripe fig: "Not without you," Achilles breathed in a rush, and the words surprised him as they came. 

The noise Patroclus made against his ear set them both to trembling. "I would not be parted from you so soon," he followed, and his fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of Pat's neck. He held on like that, feeling the weight of his words swell through him like waves. 

Patroclus shifted, his mouth still fixed hot to the curve of Achilles' jaw, and straddled him a single swift motion. Achilles let his head fall back, neck arched for his lover to lay claim, hands settling about his waist below the thick folds of his cloak. 

"You forget," Patroclus breathed, his mouth stoking a fire down the bared column of Achilles' throat, "he has given me such gifts, too." 

Achilles fingers were nimble as he shed his armor, and then Pat's; they stilled only briefly at the implication of those words, stretching taut between them. "The godling takes many lovers, it is said," Patroclus continued, and his eyes were hot on Achilles' while he shrugged off his breastplate. "Why not two more? I am as indebted to him as you, after all." He could be like this sometimes; filthy and full of words that drew the air sharp from Achilles' lungs. 

Achilles' only answer was to lunge for his mouth and lick in deep, strong arms circling Pat's waist as he bucked up against him. 

There were times when their coupling was not wholly corporeal; when the articulation of flesh and limb was but a hindrance to their formless ecstacy. They drank deep of each other's souls, then, and needed no words to name the joy of their union. But it was not always so - there was still something to be said, even in the afterlife, for pleasures of the flesh. 

Achilles did not know if it was the magicks of Elysium or perhaps his own memories of life that guided him through the sensations: a quickening pulse, an exhale of breath. Echoes of things that no longer were, yet still he found his body spoke the language of lovemaking. It seemed as real as anything else in this dream place, a rising heat that grew between them like kindled fire. 

He relished the chance to feel that warmth again: skin on skin, heat coiling in his belly. Deft hands smoothing along the planes of his chest. He wondered, for the briefest instant, how much warmer yet Zagreus would be between them: a living flame, bright and consuming, eager in all things. Would he burn them away with the very force of his desire? 

Patroclus traced the shell of Achilles' ear with lips and teeth, teasing again at the sensitive skin there. He knew his lover's body in death as well as he had in life. "Have you nothing to say for my proposition?" 

Achilles brushed his fingers beneath the hem of Patroclus's chiton, felt him swell to meet his touch. "Is this not answer enough for you?" he breathed, taking Pat in his hand and stroking hard from root to tip. 

Patroclus cried out, arching into him, bearing down on Achilles' own straining need. He loved to make him come undone like this; loved to peel away each layer like armor, taste every exposed inch in turn until his Patroclus could do nothing but tremble for him. 

But Patroclus was relentless, not so easily yielding. He rocked his hips again and again, back and forth between the heat of Achilles' hand and the hard press of his hips until they were both breathless with it. 

"You do not think you deserve him." It was spoken like an endearment, whispered against his skin. Patroclus had lain him bare - in this one thing alone, he was swifter than Achilles. "You are not so sure if you deserve me, anymore." 

His hand stilled around Patroclus, even as his hips stuttered of their own accord. The words struck into him like an arrow. Never in life had he doubted his worthiness; from birth he had been told he was destined for glory, and not until Patroclus' blood was on his hands had he thought once to question the price of it. 

"I - ," he breathed, but the words would not come. Patroclus closed his hand around Achilles', easing him back into a slow rhythm. His motions were gentler now, but still he rocked against him like a boat tossed on the waves. His other hand came up to cup Achilles' face, thumbing at lips parted around a half-formed word. 

"You have long since paid your penance, my love," Patroclus said, and his voice was soft. He rested his forehead against Achilles', gasped into his mouth as Achilles started to pick up the rhythm he had set. His eyes shone bright in the hair's breadth between them. "Let the mortals worry of things like legacy and worth. You have earned your paradise." 

Achilles could feel the effort it took to speak through the haze of his pleasure. He could feel the way Patroclus said it with his body, too, curling around Achilles as if to protect him from himself. How he _loved_ this man - if he could only ever be worthy of this, it would be enough. 

" _Patroclus_." It was all he could say. They were both stripped to the waist now, armor discarded in a haphazard pile beside them, and Achilles felt phantom sweat beading on their skin like morning dew. He quickened his pace and drank down the shuddering gasp that followed. "Show me this paradise you speak of." 

Patroclus groaned softly, his head dropping to nestle in the curve of Achilles' neck. His hand found Achilles' cock then, hard and leaking against his thigh, and he shifted to press it to his own swollen sex. His fingers wrapped around Achilles' again, taking them both into the tight, unyielding circle of his grasp and bringing a wordless cry to Achilles' lips. 

Achilles rutted against him once, twice, feeling the answering throb of Patroclus against him. It was too much; it was not enough. His other hand, holding fast to that tapered waist, circled tighter as he heaved Patroclus onto his back. He pressed against him then and bucked harder, _harder_ into the place where they were joined. 

Patroclus arched into him, and for a moment they were pressed so close that he could not tell where he ended and his lover began. A hand in his hair brought him back, tugging, parting the curtain of gold that hung about them. "Yes," Pat breathed, and his fingers were working in perfect unison with the stutter of Achilles' hips now. "Yes - _Achilles_." 

The sound of his name echoed all down his spine in a delicious shiver, and he nearly lost his rhythm as he canted forward to claim Pat's mouth. "I love the way you sound when you say my name like that," Achilles gasped between rough, open-mouthed kisses.

Patroclus chuckled, a low, wanton sound that tapered off into a moan as Achilles bent to taste the curve of his neck. "And how do you think it would - _ahh_ , would sound on our prince's lips?" 

The fire crackling hot in Achilles' belly shot into his veins then, stoked to a raging inferno by Pat's words. He could hear it: _sir, Achilles_ \- that same voice that had said his name a hundred times before, now pitched ragged with want. 

Patroclus rolled up into him, fingers flexing for purchase along the rippling muscle of his back. "What would he think to see his studious mentor now, taken apart by your need – " He exhaled sharply, the hand in Achilles’ hair tightening, "rutting like a wild _animal_ – " 

Achilles stole the words from his mouth then, nearly growling with hunger. _Yes_ , he wanted it, wanted to know how pleasure looked on their young prince. He imagined Zagreus between them now, trapped against the twin heat of their bodies, writhing in endless ecstasy as they laid claim to him with their lips and teeth and hands. 

He felt the answering heat swell inside him, and now his whole body was alight with it. " _Pat_ ," he gasped out. The feeling crested, a pinprick of light that grew and grew until he was nearly swallowed in it. "Pat, I'm – "

"Come for me," Patroclus breathed, sheathing the whole of Achilles' cock in the hot press of his palm. 

The heat consumed him then, and his vision went white with it. He cried out, spilling into Pat's hand, feeling the whole of the earth and sky and stars come crashing down over him into a single wave of searing, cosmic bliss. His hands continued to move of their own accord and Patroclus followed soon after, his teeth bearing down on Achilles' shoulder as he shuddered through his orgasm. 

They lay like that, panting, for an endless golden moment. Achilles imagined himself laying on the beach, as they had when they were young, letting the tide carry wave after wave of trembling aftershock to lap at his sensitive skin. 

He kissed the crown of Patroclus' head and rolled to lay beside him, feeling a fondness rising steadily within his chest. "You are relentless," he said breathlessly, and it sounded too tender to be the admonishment he meant it. 

"A match for your stubbornness, my heart," Patroclus countered, and his tone was every bit as tender. 

Achilles huffed out a quiet laugh and nosed beneath Pat's hair to press lazy kisses along the bearded stretch of his jaw. He did not know how long they lay like that, counting the beats of each other's phantom pulse; only that he had indeed found his paradise after all. 

The air was sweet and cool here, pregnant with moisture from roiling clouds drifting above the Lethe. It felt like a balm on their sweat-slick skin - a small miracle of Elysium, that he could feel the sated ache of his limbs against the press of Patroclus' body. That here still in death, he could touch and taste and be made whole in the arms of his lover. 

He wondered what other wonders (or _who_ , perhaps) this place held for them. 

Patroclus turned in his embrace, then, skimming his knuckles tenderly along Achilles' jaw, and there were questions still lingering there in his gaze. 

He thought of what Patroclus had asked of him a lifetime ago, of the only thing he'd ever denied his lover; he thought of the promise he'd made then never to refuse him again on the basis of something as foolish as his own pride. Patroclus might cloak himself in shrewd words and studied indifference, but Achilles knew - with a bright and unwavering ferocity - that he only ever wanted what was best for his _philtatos_. His most dearly beloved. 

He turned, brought Patroclus' knuckles to his lips and kissed each in turn. 

"I will go to him," he said softly. _Those mismatched eyes screwed shut in pleasure, that fine, sculpted chest heaving between them, a touch both tender and searing_ \- he could see it finally, conjured for him from the steady, urgent press of Patroclus' mouth against his own. And _oh_ \- how fiercely he ached to make this feeling known, now that it had been freed from the cage of his heart. "Perhaps it is time we thanked him properly, my love."

**Author's Note:**

> come and find me on twitter [@rk_42O](https://twitter.com/rk_42O) to join me in my mission of preaching the good gospel of zagtrochilles!
> 
> comment if you'd like to see a sequel where achilles makes good on his promises ;-)


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